


Respite's Gully

by Bloogerstien



Series: A Most Unholy Inquisitor [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-03-08 07:22:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18889888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloogerstien/pseuds/Bloogerstien
Summary: A continuation of A Most Unholy Inquisitor.Guinevere and Cullen struggle with life after the Inquisition. Much fluff, tags, and ratings to change in time.





	1. Chapter 1

His wife shuffled uncomfortably in her saddle, assuming another break from riding he halted his horse. Her steed took another couples steps before she had noticed they had stopped, her lips pulled thin in her attempt to smile.  
  
"I'm fine."  
  
"I'm hardly convinced," his mount closed the gap, "if it was too soon to see Mia -the family- I fully understand."  
  
It was past time for this conversation, sitting on the hill above the arling of South Reach. The sleepy town below them prepared for dusk, the last few stragglers hurrying back into their respective homes. Torches and hearths lighting with near synchronicity about the city. Cullen's breast beat with excitement, it had been little more than a month since he was parted from his family, but he was still excited to be with them again. Especially with Guinevere at his side. He wanted to show off his bride, even if they had met before... and even though his new bride had been a little less than herself as of late.  
  
The loss of her limb had taken some of her heart with it. The trek back to his family was much more silent than he had anticipated. They had much to discuss, a place to settle down, plans for the child, and their direction for the next phase of their life together. Nothing had been uttered, and he wasn't entirely sure she agreed to come to South Reach but nevertheless, she followed without complaint. For now, he assumed because they were married they would move around together. With Guinevere, blessedly, with child he had hoped her days of court visits and fighting escapades would cease for a time. Without the Inquisition, both of them had that luxury.  
  
Guinevere's attention turned in the direction of Mia's house, her thin frown returning, "can we walk?"  
  
Dutifully, he dismounted, allowing her to stall them a bit longer. A glance sent at the pack horses and mabari behind them, giving the woman ample time to decide if she wanted help climbing down. His shoulder ready, but the invitation did not come as she clambered down. In partially feigned exhaustion, she leaned against his side, lingering. Her jaw twitched to her temples, hinting at the thoughts hidden beneath the surface. All Cullen could do was kiss the mound of hair at his shoulder. Regretfully this was the extent of their passions this far into their married life.     
  
He couldn't complain, without armour to bar the mage she had found an excuse to be closer.  
  
"Will they be mad?"  
  
Ah, the entire Jane incident, "Mia knew, eventually- the rest, it will likely change little."  
  
"I shouldn't have gone to South Reach," she murmured.  
  
"Bran lived because of you," Cullen entwined their fingers, "I may have worried, and fretted about the trouble you would cause. But I- we were lucky."  
  
"I don't wish to be cuffed," her smile pierced through the grimace.  
  
"I can only try to protect you from that," Cullen would not make such a promise, taking the tentative step forward, "they will love you."  
  
Her silence returned as they resumed the road forward. The two passed with ease, drawing little more than a nod from the guards. The streets nearly empty, and only a few glances spared in their direction. The return to normalcy was a gift. Without the banners and heraldry of the Inquisition he could move with little interference. Most of the glances went to the woman at his side, questioning if they recognized the figure and to stare at her missing arm.  
  
With his wife's tightened grip, they rounded the last corner before Mia's house. A handful of figures awaited them in the street, with Mia heading the crew.  
  
"Cullen Stanton Rutherford!"  
  
Cullen bravely shuffled Guinevere behind him, grinning even as Mia unfairly cuffed him on both sides, "Sister."  
  
Mia ignored him, peering over his shoulder at the mage, "Guinevere, Guinevere what is your full name?"  
  
" _Guineverephilomenaelizabethlyethepetuniatrevelyanrutherford._ "  
  
His sister blinked, grumbling, "much more slowly this time."  
  
"Guinevere Philomena Elizabeth Lyethe Petunia Trevelyan Rutherford."  
  
"Guinevere Philomena Lyethe Petunia Trevelyan Rutherford!"  
  
Cullen grinned wider, an idiot in love. An idiot realizing his wife had taken his last name — one of the other many things they had not discussed.  
  
"You forgot the Elizbeth between the Philomena and Lyethe," she dared to correct.  
  
"Again, slower."  
  
"Guinevere."  
  
"Guinevere."  
  
"Philomena."  
  
"Philomena."  
  
"Elizabeth."  
  
"Elizabeth."  
  
"Lyethe."  
  
"Lyethe."  
  
"Petunia."  
  
"Petunia."  
  
"Trevelyan," Guinevere enunciating the 'e.'  
  
"Trevelyan Rutherford," Mia finished crossly.  
  
The mage was goading her on, but within the space allotted to her. She knew Mia was the sort to perfect her threatening call that involved invoking the middle name, even if one had four-five of them.  
  
"Guinevere Jane Philomena Elizabeth Lyethe Petunia Trevelyan Rutherford!" Mia's edge melted, forcing her way between them as she engulfed the mage in a hug, "welcome to the family!"  
  
Guinevere burst into tears, trying to hide her face as the rest of the family approached.  
  
"Mia, look at what you did!" Rosalie tutted over the newest member of the family.  
  
"Sorry, it wasn't-" she tried to swipe at her eyes, retreating a few steps. Her panicked eyes seeking Cullen in the sea of mostly blonde before her. But another two threaded passed his legs, Jon attempting to catch either of the darting children before all members of the family swallowed Guinevere.  
  
"What happened to your arm?" Bran's child asked, dark brown eyes inquisitive.  
  
"A wolf took off with it," Guinevere forced a cheeky smile, "and who are you?"  
  
"Oh, Ethan, that wasn't kind! He's Bran's kid- same age as my  Jack," Mia motioned to her sister, "that is Rosalie. She happened to take Ethan with her to visit Aunt Nan in Honnleath while you were here."  
  
Ethan huffed, "Sorry, Guinevere."  
  
"Guin is fine."  
  
Jack focused on other things, "is that your dog?"  
  
"Recruit?" Guinevere called the animal from his place beside the horses. The Mabari more than happy to insert himself into the swarm of people. The children took particular interest in the huge hound.  
  
Mia cleared her throat, "Jon, if you would help Guinevere with getting the horses settled. The rest of us will get dinner set up in the meantime."  
  
—   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —  
  
She followed after the tall figured moped with black hair, having to make two quick strides to keep up with one of his steps. He was silent as usual, taking up both sets of reigns without bothering to ask. She pretended to watch after the horses hitched to the first two, bothering herself with the hem of her leather vest while he also took it upon himself to unload the items from the pack animals.  
  
"I'm pregnant, not disabled," Guinevere stammered as the man blocked her efforts to help once again.  
  
"You sure?" his hazel eyes moved to her left arm.  
  
"You know what I mean," she knew how defeated she sounded.  
  
A small smile crawled across his face, "Mia would wring me up if she knew you lifted a finger."  
  
So the mage waited, managing to swipe the lead of her own mount as she waited for Jon to finish. Half turned to the racket emanating from inside the house. Glad to have a few moments to escape the chaos, even if she did not want to be separated from her husband. Though, it was likely time he got a break from her near-constant neediness. Here there would be no shortages of babysitters to keep her from trouble.  
  
With a couple words, Jon lead them to the stables near the outskirts of the city. The short journey silent, her horse tenderly demanding pats as they walked.  
  
The old stablemaster eyed the precession with interest, his gaze honing in on the rare horseflesh before him, "if I'm not wrong, that is a Trevelyan Fressian- a rare coat at that. I'm sure that mare is worth more than a pretty penny."  
  
Guinevere pulled the mare tightly to her, entangling her fingers in the creature's grey mane.  The animal rested her head atop her shoulder, content with the proper amount of attention the horse knew she required.  
  
"A Trevelyan is never far behind their mount, I'd also wager you are the famous one everyone is talking about," the man hobbled from his bench, "do you need lodge for your beasts? Or are you here to show off to old Harlow?"  
  
Guinevere forced a thin smile, "they need lodging. It might be a long term arrangement until some personal matters are sorted."  
  
"You know how to make an old man happy!" he hobbled to her, holding out his hand expectantly, a younger boy rushed from the stables to take the horse Jon lead.  
  
Guinevere and the man hashed out details and coin, and eventually, she gave up the lead to her mount. Letting the man walk away with an unusual amount of pep in his step. He was solely focused on the mare, already promising a cleaning and thorough brushing to the creature. Without a reason to remain, Guinevere started on the path back. Jon fell in at her side.  
  
"It's nice to have you around again," he mused.  
  
She let the statement float away, her response held somewhere in her throat. This was the most the man had ever tried to speak with her, while she should encourage the effort she found herself wanting to remain in silence. It was easier to be quiet lately, balancing the new fears and limitations that screamed in her head. She should be happy, but in reality, she felt far from it despair creeping in at the edges of her thoughts.  
  
"As the only other non-Rutherford to walk into the warzone of Rutherfords, I should warn you of what we are about to encounter," bless the man for trying again, "it will be loud and messy. They were on good behavior with 'Jane' but now that you are part of the family, everything will change.  Keep your head down, and don't look at the food if you aren't prepared to eat more."  
  
He patiently waited for acknowledgment, passed the simple nod she had offered him, it hadn't come, "since you aren't in the mood to talk, and likely understandably so. I'll stop for the both of us. But if you need out, let me know."  
  
"Thank you," Guinevere whispered.  
  
As promised, the all too short walk back home was kept in comfortable silence. Jon entered the abode first, absorbing the wave of noise. Guinevere crept in behind him, watching the mad dash around the table. Ethan chased Jack as they screamed for the chair next to Cullen. Jack won this round as Branson caught his son around the waist the hoisted him into the spot next to him. Leaving the right corner, and end of the table for the stragglers.  
  
Jon took the end, directly across from Mia at the head of the table. Cullen sat at her left, Jack, then Rosalie finished out the left side. Branson, Ethan, and Guinevere's spot on the right finished out the table. Cullen sent a questioning look in her direction. She answered with a tentative smile. Before the relative peace at the table exploded.  
  
Branson and Cullen deadlocked over the bowl of mashed potatoes, both men gripped the wooden rim. Eerily matching amber eyes attempting to convince the other to give up.  
  
"Don't you two hog all the potatoes! I am not above taking them from your plate!" Rosalie warned, loudly.  
  
"If you're fast enough to get them, Rosie," Cullen called in challenge, yanking the bowl from Branson's grip. Scooping a helping large enough to make Rosalie sigh in frustration.  
  
Without warning, the bowl landed in Guinevere's plate. The eyes of all present fell on her, not leaving as she awkwardly maneuvered the scoop and bowl with one hand. Slowly taking her mouse-sized portion before the dish was whisked away by an impatient and somehow clumsier Ethan.  
  
"That's not enough!" Mia called out, leaning over most of the table to take her plate.  
  
No one dared to confront Mia, as she took the best samples of the various dishes from the table without any trouble. Doubling her helping of mashed potatoes in the process. Once the mage's plate returned to the table, the battle renewed again.  
  
Dishes whirled by Guinevere with surprising speed, most seemed to never stop at Jon's plate, but he deftly wrangled food without the dish needing to stop. Rosalie made up for her lack of physical force by volume alone. Jack and Ethan relied on leftovers after Mia had managed to grab a serving. Cullen and Branson often fought for the prime pickings, and any scraps left behind. Her former Commander wolfing down much more food than she had ever seen the man consume.  
  
The mage picked off a third of her potatoes, slyly dumping the leftovers on the grateful kid at her side. While that dish had appeared to be the commodity at the table, she preferred the flakey pastries that tasted of butter — managing to catch an extra as the plate diminishing plate passed her — earning a grin from Jon. She tried earnestly to clear the remainder of her plate, finding her stomach churning at the thought. Instead, she focused on listening to the battle of banter over the table.  
  
Cullen teased Rosalie as she tried to swipe one of those buttery rolls from his plate, she accused him of hiding them. Branson moved in on Cullen's plate, spearing a cut of pork as Cullen fended off his sister. Guinevere felt Ethan and Jack attempt to kick each other under the table, finding her shin become an accidental target. Mia suddenly pushed herself between Cullen and Branson as their forks sparred over the table. Finally, as she admonished them for behaving like barbarians, they gave up the duel.  
  
Cullen glowered at his brother from across the table, palming a far less valuable bread roll.  
  
Branson stuck out his tongue.  
  
Cullen huffed.  
  
Branson grinned widely.  
  
"Bran, roll?" Cullen declared, before pelting it across the table smacking him in the cheek.  
  
The first available thing to Branson was his fork, chucking it back at Cullen with no forethought. He dodged the projectile but bumped the table as he stood. Sending the loose dishes, bowls, and silverware clattering to the ground.  
  
_"Cass! Dodge!"_  
  
_Bull hurled the rock hard excuse for bread at the Seeker. Hitting the woman in the dead center of her forehead. Enraged the Seeker dove across the table, plates, food, and a pitcher of wine found itself clanging against the stone flooring. The pitcher emptying itself down Guinevere's front before it too rolled across the floor._  
  
_The brawl that followed a fight not spoken of in front of polite company._  
  
_Solas chuckled from somewhere down the hall._  
  
_She had laughed until she cried._  
  
The tears returning for the second time that day came for a very different reason. It was hardly more than two weeks from the last time they would all be together, without the Inquisition, deaths, and revealed secrets they would never be in the same place again. While she was undoubtedly lucky to have another family ready to fill the void, it felt all too soon. The loss of her first family too fresh.  
  
Jon pressed his napkin filled with warm crescents into her palm as she excused herself from the table. 


	2. A little secret, A little shit.

Cullen pressed himself against Guinevere, the sleepy mage slept passed her usual viewing of the dawn. Crimson hair in complete disarray from the several hours she had spent in bed, a pale shoulder stuck out of the large slip. Those freckles beckoned his lips, pressing them against her heated skin. Drawing them slowly to her neck, feeling his need thickening for her. His fingers dug into her silken thigh, raking upwards until he reached the junction of her legs. Palming her sex with lazy circles, her light humming more than enough to keep him going.  
  
"Time for breakfast, Lovebirds!" Rosalie called, slamming her hand against the door.  
  
Guinevere groaned, as her stomach grumbled at the promise of breakfast. The two needs were fighting within the couple. Waiting months between trysts was hardly a wise decision. It felt much more urgent without the opportunity to consummate their marriage formally. With a thrust against her backside, Cullen rolled from the bed first. Picking up a loose shirt to cover his state. Guinevere joined him, pulling on a solid red robe. The golden symbol of the Inquisition painted on the back.  
  
"Morning, husband," a gentle kiss pressed to the underside of her jaw.  
  
"Wife," Cullen returned, organizing her wild hair into a more acceptable form and ushering her to the door with a firm cup of her buttock.  
  
Bleary-eyed, the mage stumbled out before him, narrowly avoiding the boys as they streamed past. Mia and Rosalie chatted in similar dress over steaming cups, and Bran stormed by chasing after the children with less enthusiasm. Jon was absent, already off to work that day. The Mabari curled up by the dying embers in the hearth, an ear tilted in their direction but not yet concerned enough to wake fully.  
  
"Morning!" His sisters greeted in unison.  
  
Mia looked Guinevere up and down, smiling to herself, "someone looks much better this morning."  
  
"It was lovely sleeping in a real bed again," it was nothing compared to her bed back in Skyhold, but she did mean it, "I'm famished."  
  
"We won't judge how much you eat- what's the saying? Eating for two?" Rosalie said, with a twinkle in her eye. Patting the seat beside her.  
  
Guinevere readily dug into the simple meal of bread and jams, particular attention paid to the mostly untouched Apple Butter. Gulping down the tea with little thought. Cullen ate much more slowly, his stomach partially full from the meal last night. He wasn't sure what got into him last night, shoving food down his gullet like he hadn't eaten for weeks.  
  
"So, I was thinking of making a pie tonight," Mia mused, her gaze turning on the red-head, "I don't mean to take my brother from you, but I was hoping you and Bran could fetch me berries."  
  
Bran paused, his eyes narrowing in the direction of the table.  
  
"From the patch overlooking the Gully? I can get them myself," Guinevere stammered avoiding looking at Bran.  
  
"No, dear woman. It's rained for nearly a week straight. The path isn't safe to go alone."  
  
The mage fought the urge to reassert her earlier statement, jaw clenched tightly as she assessed the benefits to arguing her point. This 'danger' was nothing compared to the life she had previously lead. Worse was her resolve to not be near or alone with Bran.  
  
"She's trampled over most of Southern Thedas, she doesn't need a guide," the mage receiving support from Branson- although his tone left something to be desired.  
  
Mia huffed, "you will both go together. Finish your breakfast, and then get ready. Then go."  
  
What could Mia want out of him so badly?  
  
His little brother rolled his eyes and stomped away, Guinevere shoved the slice she nibbled at into her mouth. Trotting off to their room, with a glance spared in his direction. Rosalie shot him a sideways glance.  
  
"If you really want my wife's love, an apple pie would assure it," it was the kindest task he could think of to get Rosalie out of Mia's warpath, without the matriarch of the family coming up with some insane task.  
  
"Thank you, Cullen. Rosalie. You know who has the best orchards if you would charm him out of his best apples."  
  
Rosalie wisely nodded, not arguing about how the trip would take up a good portion of the remaining morning. If she were to hurry. Without anything to spare her of Mia's wrath, she also hurried to get ready for her trek.  
  
"Cullen, if you would kindly help me clear the table."  
  
The task was almost completed in silence, save for the parties leaving the house. Guinevere with her hair left long and loose, dressed in simple breeches and a tunic, that showed off a hint of her growing belly. Branson grumbled behind her, ignoring Mia's caution that they hurry to avoid the incoming storm. Rosalie left with the same warning, but she was already dressed for the changing weather.  
  
"So, how does my brother go from single to married so quickly?"  
  
Mia wasted no time.  
  
"It was complicated," she didn't want that answer, it was too obvious, "you'll be ever surprised to learn there was much I did not write to you about."  
  
"Is this the miscarriage she mentioned?"  
  
His throat stuck, "yes. She- We both made mistakes. By the time I had told you we had ended our relationship, we had hardly spoken in that year. Well, without it turning into a verbal sparring match."  
  
He found the amusement in his voice foreign, but comfortable. If only he had the foresight then to see their actions as immature and idiotic as he did now. They were obviously two people in considerable amounts of pain, both of them with set patterns of dealing with that pain that wasn't healthy. His anger sent her guilt spiraling into deep shame. The silence of her shame made him feel unseen, invalidated, and useless. Cullen wished it was not mostly on Guinevere forcing herself open to vulnerability to bring them back together.  
  
"That is somewhat enlightening, but not an answer."  
  
"She changed, I finally listened," Cullen amused himself with a speck on the kitchen bench, "she's always been an amazing woman, and I wish I knew what made her... why she decided to be vulnerable to the person who said terrible things to her."  
  
"You've always had a good heart, behind that scowl."  
  
"You give me too much credit," Cullen huffed.  
  
"Cullen Stanton," Mia paused.  
  
"She's really wonderful Mia, I know she's not acting her normal self, she's scared. So much has changed since the Council, and she's struggling- but give her the time. You'll love her as I do," he pleaded.  
  
"I know her enough to know this isn't her normal, remember?" Mia tried soothing Cullen, "you stupid boy, I want the details about your wedding. All the gooshy stuff."  
  
"Well, I did indeed propose the day she told me she was with child- though she insisted I think about it further," Cullen grinned slyly, "saved her from the Emperor. Eloped during the Exalted Council."  
  
Mia demanded more information from him, digging into territory that made him blush. Knowing far too much for a family member, and their failed attempts at having a moment alone to enjoy marital bliss. But his sister dug deep, eventually falling into laughter and relaxed conversation.  
  
As the first drops of afternoon rain fell against the roof, he pulled strength from his wife, "Mia, I should tell you about what really happened to me at Kinloch."  
  
—   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —  
  
The woman waddled behind him, thankfully deciding on remaining silent. When she was Jane, the woman could go on and on. Always nervously babbling about something or another. Why Mia had ever tolerated her was far beyond him. The rest of them seemed equally entranced.  
  
Oh, how Rosie had just cooed at the warmed water in the basin! Thinking the woman had done something with her magic for something so simple, treating it like she had performed some blighted miracle! Cullen was the worst, all doe-eyed and chasing after her skirts! It made him sick. He was finally home, he should be paying attention to his family — not some trollop blood mage.  
  
Or dare he think that was her secret?  
  
Mia hadn't lied about the difficulty of the path, the incline made harder by the slippery mud that coated the trail. He often had to crawl up a problematic spot, not that he cared to look after the mage, but she kept up annoyingly well. He had the basket so that the task would be completed. In mid-sprint up the next incline he heard the woman slip and tumble finally the mud seeming to present her with an issue.  
  
Branson watched with shocking disinterest as she kept sliding down the slope, eventually disappearing over the ledge with a short scream. In utter annoyance, he picked his way down the hill, following the tracks of her tumble over the ridge. Peaking over it to see her unharmed, but straining to catch the ledge with her single hand.  
  
Served her right, this would give a legitimate reason to cry. Unlike the two times she had burst into tears at nothing the day before. If she liked the attention so much she could cry out for someone that cared.  
  
Shoving away the nagging conscious he resumed his march, half covered in mud. The week of rain provided him with the top choice in berries, and plenty of extras to pop in his mouth as he worked and returned to tow. Chel beckoned him into the Tavern, where he forgot about the woman who tumbled over the ledge.  
  
Until somewhere in his blurry mind, the rain sparked his memory.  
  
They were late.  
  
Now he ran up the path, more than once face planting in his hurry as the rain came down in heavier sheets. Making the journey treacherous for him at full sobriety, let alone a couple of pints too far in. Spending several long minutes locating the washed out ridges for the mage.  
  
After several minor panic attacks, he found her huddled against the cliff face, "hey, blood mage!"  
  
She looked up; terror quickly replaced with pleading, "Branson?"  
  
"Well, hurry up! Mia will kill us!" he missed her cross look, but accepted the hand that easier pulled her up.  
  
At least she was light enough, soaking wet, and shivering.  
  
Wiping his hands on his pants, he realized his second mistake. Forgetting the berries they had been sent out to get. The fear of the Maker entered into his body, between the sorry state of the mage and the lack of fruits Mia was going to be furious. Had he been stupid enough to think she would say nothing about this? There wasn't anything more to do than head back home. The mage clipped along at his more reasonable pace. Racing quickly as thunder cracked above them, through the side streets of South Reach.  
  
Rosalie opened the door as they neared, ushering the dripping figures into the warm home. Cullen was upon his wife in no time, clutching the sides of her soaked and muddy hair.  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"I fell, Branson had to get help," she muttered behind chattering teeth.  
  
Bran was fully ready to defend himself, the first peep of his defense wrang out to draw attention to himself. But he stood in shock, the basket of berries sat in the middle of the table.  
  
"What she said," he mumbled out.  
  
Mia's hands rested on her hips, her eyes a little more worn than usual. On further investigation, Cullen's eyes were rimmed in red as well. Odd.  
  
Guinevere sneezed loudly, drawing the attention away from him. The room revolved around her, as was usual when the mage was involved. It figured this stunt would still manage to backfire.  
  
Bran slipped away to his room, but before he could open the door, a large hand constricted around his throat, throwing him against the opposite wall.  
  
"You little shit!" Jon hissed, the pure rage on the man's always docile face made his bladder loosen, "do you think you're funny?"  
  
He tried to answer, but the hand cut off his air leaving him to sputter.  
  
"You better pray the mother and child don't suffer for your stupidity. Pray harder that I do not mention this to Mia," Bran didn't know which threat was more frightening, he was just scaring the broad. Couldn't they see what she was doing? "I don't know what happened, but I know where you were."  
  
Jon dropped him, the rage fell with it, as the man rounded the corner into the living room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bran will get better- I just think of him being really jealous over Cullen's divided attention. Plus his suspicions and distrust of magic.


	3. Discussions and Other Long Awaited Events

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This went on for a bit... oh well.

The Herald had taken three days to recover from her bout in the rain. The first was marked by her uncontrollable shivering and a fever that left her cold despite the measures taken to warm her. Well, all means but staking herself out before the hearth, she was quite stubborn about being locked away in their shared room. The second day Guinevere had stumbled out for a few bites of an afternoon meal still shivering, but able to remain social for a few hours in the evening. She wouldn't explain more about the slip that made her move stiffly.  The third day she was determined both of them needed some time out of the house together- but her trip to the market had lasted into the early afternoon. With a somewhat forced grin when greeted a few blocks from Mia's home, she announced that the entire village knew the ex-Inquisitor was there. Her arm awkwardly loaded with a much larger basket overflowing with trinkets, food, and flowers that made her face swell. Cullen removed the offending plants, and Mia took the basket with an angry expression. His wife needed the rest of the day to recover, the herbs taking some hours before she could breathe easily again.   
  
The next morning, Mia had found a convenient excuse to keep him from the house. Ordering him to cut wood for an elderly woman a few houses down, and to not return until he had adequately washed after. It had taken him a little more than an hour, and most of that forced into a cup of tea with the woman, surprised to find that he enjoyed his time with Dorothy. Leaving her with an honest promise to bring his wife back to visit, he clipped back home. HIs nose following a scent that had him drooling, but as promised, he made sure to wash before coming back in the door — nodding to the three females that stood in the kitchen, one who watched his now shirtless form with particular attention.   
  
Guinevere waited for him the main room, arm wrapped around the large basket. Grinning widely as he strode to her, pulling the deceptively heavy basket from her with ease. She returned the grin, blushing about something between her loose locks of red hair. Her attire was much simpler than usual, but none the less beautiful. It reminded him of the maidens in his childhood stories that needed to be rescued, or freed from curses.   
  
"Are you sure it is safe to be traversing the wilds in a dress?" he asked, brushing a strand of hair from her face. Forcing his eyes from the freckles that were revealed by the white fabric that lay low on her shoulders.  
  
Guinevere returned with a playful snarl, "yes. Very. Besides, my other clothes felt... tight."  
  
"I will allow this deviation from the standard uniform," he glanced down her front, the bunched fabric sat on her waist, before changing into a gathered overskirt of blue cloth above a black skirt. It hid her belly well, which was likely part of her choice in the dress, but his free hand pressed against it, "I am glad the new recruit is performing well."  
  
Mia's clearing throat intercepted their foreheads meeting, a blush flashing across his face and neck, "now, don't feel like you need to rush back. But try not to stay out past dark, either."  
  
"Don't worry Mia; Recruit can protect us," Guinevere mumbled from behind him, drawing a sigh from his sister.   
  
"You children scat before I challenge you to repeat that to my face!" Mia threatened as they bolted out the door. Guinevere giggling loudly as she almost tripped over her skirts. Recruit feel in behind them, trotting along merrily.  
  
The mage outpaced him, obviously excited for whatever destination she took them too. She swirled around excitedly, her dark blushing overtaking her whenever he failed to laugh. Make no mistake that her wildness, that seeped into the Mabari, was most amusing to him even with the spark of jealousy for never being able to see her like this. How excited the sheltered mage must have been with each new location the Inquisition had sent her to. He was attempting to control his desires; they had long overdue business to discuss.  
  
The peak of twin dark pink circles pressed against white fabric made it harder to keep his mind on track.  
  
After a little over an hours walk, Guinevere bolted over the grassy knoll. Descending quickly over the other side, long grass trickling at her skirts. The hill bottomed out into an oversized gully, a lazy but decently wide stream flowed to his left meeting grass that stretched out until it met the edges of the Brecilian Forest. His mage threw aside her boots, lifting her skirts as she stepped into the slow water.  
  
"Cullen! Join me, the water feels nice," Guinevere called after him, as he set the basket atop the blanket packed into the basket.  
  
"It must be cold," Cullen mused, refusing to let himself look at what was packed.  
  
"Perfectly cold," she called back, resting against a large rock that sat at the bank.  
  
He walked over, watching the Mabari snap at fish on the other side of the stream. Guinevere's bright grin focused on the dog until he approached, not quite feeling up to putting his feet in the water as she had. He glanced at the small silvery fish that pecked at her feet. Full and fluttering sleeves that rested against the rock as her arm held her upright.  
  
"You know, it was in this exact spot I first suspected I was pregnant," she spoke gently, cautiously, "also puked in front of Mia too. Not so proud of that."  
  
Cullen looked away, a soft smile overtaking his lips. He had picked a good one.   
  
Even as a wave of frigid water flooded his senses, dosing him completely in an unfair swoop. Water dripped from his brows, obscuring the woman who dashed from the rock hiding the smile behind her hand until his reaction was apparent.  Forgetting his vow, he plunged after her sweeping the woman against him effectively soaking her front as he pressed them together. Seeking warmth from her lips. Her hand wound into his curls, his own lifting her bottom. Kissing her deeply until she moaned breathlessly, waking him from his impulsiveness. Just as quickly as he snapped her up, he set her down stalking for the blanket with nothing more than a smile sent over his shoulder.   
  
She followed after, squeezing the water from her skirts as she walked.   
  
He sat cross-legged on the blanket, "what did you pack?"  
  
Guinevere sighed, taking a spot that left the basket between them, her darkened eyes flashing to him, "nothing too special." The mage moved in front of the basket, leaning over the basket giving him a good view of her pink breasts and the white fabric that clung to them.   
  
Guinevere gingerly removed the first bundle, that by the shape was supported by something flat on the bottom. Her grin poked through, driving him to reach out for it curiously. Remembering the smell from earlier in the morning, but she pulled it aside, urging him to fight with her over it. Cullen did no such thing, backing as she put it out of the way.  
  
"That's for later," the playful tone not as exuberant, his regret doubling because she would have spoiled him for the effort.  
  
She took out bread, sliced cheese, meats, and a glass bottle filled with something he did not recognize, "what is that?"  
  
"I thought we'd try it, one of the merchants had discovered something that he said would change the sandwich game," she dipped her thumb in the jar, "lemon juice, egg yolk, and oil. Care to try it first."  
  
She offered a small puff of the white mixture from her thumb, carefully he swiped it from her thumb, drawing a frown to her face. He let it sit in his mouth, the tang of the mixture was pleasant, "it's not half bad."  
  
Guinevere dove for his lips, unable to stop himself from responding for a moment too long. He had to push the woman from him, her full indignation sparking in the form of her shaking shoulders, "Guinevere, not now."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"We need- should talk," Cullen felt terrible, as she visibly retreated inward, "we- I need a plan. Something to do."  
  
To hasten her recovery, she busied herself with cutting the loaf into slices, "I was hoping that- that could be a post-coital conversation."  
  
Cullen forced himself to ignore the extra droplet that tumbled into the blanket, "so you would agree with whatever I would come up with, and not have to decide yourself?"  
  
Her long huff was all the answer he needed, "do you want the stuff on your sandwich?"  
  
"I will try it."  
  
He allowed her subject change to remain, letting her make both of their meals in silence. Hopefully, both of them could calm in the time to discuss their future without clouding. He hoped harder that his refusal wouldn't be taken as a reflection of something wrong with her. Cullen knew she struggled with the loss of her limb, though she had done nothing but show a brave face. Just as many attempts had ended because she grew distressed about the state of her arm, he hated denying her on a good day.  
  
With the first few bites into their meals, they relaxed. Guinevere returning to the space on the other side of the basket, and Cullen's guilt subsided moderately.  
  
"So, you took my name?" attempting to start this on a happy note.  
  
"Yes, I have no attachment to the old one," she set the sandwich down in the pool of her skirts, smiling gently, "I didn't know I would still keep Trevelyan until Mia asked."  
  
"I'm glad, though you did not need to," the person, not the name was the most crucial part, "did you have thoughts on where we should settle?"  
  
"Not particularly," she admitted, "before the Council I had planned on traveling until I found somewhere, or the kid came. I was hoping somewhere would feel like home, as much as Skyhold had. Did you want to return to Honnleath? Or how about your plan to run a Templar clinic?"  
  
That about summed the amount of forethought he figured the mage to come up with. The life of vagrant until her pregnancy forced her to stop, likely back to where he was. Her bleeding heart to kind to force him out of fatherhood, despite the plans he made. Or the hurt endured for it.   
  
"I'm not set on Honnleath, though I would not rule it out either. But I have no plans for that life any longer, and I have you — our child. I couldn't make you and our child endure the troubles associated with that life," he hadn't fared much better, vagrancy sounded more appealing with each thought. He had found home beside her, "I suppose we could wander for a time. Find somewhere that suits us both."  
  
"Somewhere quiet, calm. Where we can spend our days without the need for work," Guinevere looked at her belly, caressing it, "except for this spitfire. They'll be work."  
  
"For a time, perhaps. But I need to find work, something to keep my hands busy."  
  
She looked at him with budding concern, "you wouldn't need to. I would have enough for our lifetime, even if we settled on a chateau."  
  
He snorted, he highly doubted he could forsake all the decades of built up tension. It pawed at him now, whispering that he needed to move, to keep busy, to hold the demons at bay. "While it sounds like a dream, I already wish to return in some ways to the work the Inquisition granted me."  
  
"Oh," her jaw clenched tightly, before her voice released in a small whisper, "just not busy enough that you don't come to bed at the end of the night? And sparing time for the kid, and at least a quarter of as much time for me, right?"  
  
Cullen touched his fist to his chest, scrambling to come up with anything to match the intensity of her confession. It was odd that she mentioned her deepest vulnerability so casually, the dash of jest in her words ignored for the way they tightened in his chest. Was he forgiven for the times he ignored her out of busyness? Or rather- had she stopped thinking of herself as his biggest pester.  
  
"I've really enjoyed our time, and- uh," she scratched at her chest, before moving the hand to the back of her neck, "that was rather selfish, and foolish. Of course, the kid should come first no matter what."  
  
He couldn't help to laugh, seeing a part of himself in her actions, "I don't think we should keep referring to it as kid. Eventually, they will need a name."  
  
"Delilah," she blurted, crossing her eyebrows in the direction of her lap, "it sounds stupid, after how it all ended. But I wouldn't have made it without her. She was strong, independent, and wasn't afraid to go after what she wanted. I'd like that for our daughter if it is one."  
  
"I am concerned that-" he put aside his personal feelings, ones tangled with his experience of blood magic and of being a Templar, "if you have forgiven, and you obviously feel strongly about it- I think it would be an acceptable choice."  
  
"Cunning way to disapprovingly, approve Templar. But I'm taking that as a yes," the mage noted with a smug grin, "but how about a boy? Should we name him after your late father... or?"  
  
"Maker no, my father made it clear for years that he didn't want any of his grandchildren cursed with his name. He hated his name. He always said, 'Garth rhymes with barf, and I never outlived it.'"  
  
"That is a little rough, so another decision to make later?"  
  
He nodded, the lapsing silence allowed him to finish his sandwich in peace. Guinevere pecked at her own, but still gave it more effort than usual. She hadn't packed the typical barrel of apples to sate her hunger, so she had to rely on other foods to keep her full. Or perhaps she still struck against the fruit because he fever had left her unable to try the apple Mia baked for her. He hadn't secured a piece for her in time, so she was forced to go without.  
  
"Can we allow our child to decide if they want to be Andrastian?" she questioned after she finished the meal, and Cullen worked through his second helping.  
  
"Some kind of every other service attended deal?" he questioned with mirth, "I hadn't considered that. I would allow it, although their mother would have to watch the profanities."  
  
"I swear on the Maker's Holy Ballsack," poking out her tongue at him, before returning to a serious expression, "and if they are a mage?"  
  
Another possibility he hadn't considered, Guinevere had thought more about the predicament than he gave her credit for, "I trust you to teach our child. With the fate of new mages in balance, I still wonder what the Divine plans. Not everyone will accept a magical child."  
  
"I would kill anyone that attempted to take my child," she stated.  
  
Cullen didn't want to continue down this path, swallowing down the rest of his sandwich, "So, what is hiding in that last bundle of yours?"  
  
The mage reached for the bundle, setting it squarely in his lap, "enjoy."  
  
He untied the fabric, his nostrils filling with the familiar smell of shortbread cookies. Ones he had not tasted in years, grinning guiltily as he tore into the heart-shaped treats with little restraint. So this was the mystery behind the sudden removal of the threat from Skyhold's menu. Why Josephine and Lelianna had hammered on him on his feelings about the particular cookie- grinning like cats when he admitted to favoring them above all else.   
  
—   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —  
  
Guinevere removed herself from the man's side, letting him enjoy the treat in private. Finding herself at the river's edge to cool down, Recruit napped on the other bank. Exhausted from his pursuits at catching fish.  
  
She bent over her rock, letting her hand rest in the cold water. The school of thin fish eagerly picking at the residue of the dressing and bits of dry skin they could find.   
  
Unfortunately, the breeze that stirred up through her skirts and to her uncovered center reminded her of her stupidity. Now her breasts were cold and damp, a recipe for chaffing on their way back. But luckily, it was hard to keep focused on it as the breeze passed. The lazy crawling of the stream calmed her mind, and the whisper of the grass lulled her into clearer thinking. Even if not for the critical subjects unbreached between them, Cullen wasn't likely to engage in such activity out in the open. Just how she felt so comfortable was a concern.  
  
Warmth pressed against her backside, drawing her to stand as lips pressed against her neck slowly. Pushing aside her collar until it revealed an entire shoulder, "I'm sorry." He whispered it again and again as his lips traveled to her jawline, hands keeping her pressed against his hips.  
  
Turning her slowly as he fought to keep each inch of contact between them together, a hand spread out at the small of her back. The other brushed hair from her face, "Maker's Breath, you're perfect."  
  
Before she could utter some snarky comment about the man kissing her already, he did. Wasting no time in hoisting her up either, carrying her without breaking the kiss and without jostling her as he settled her against the blanket. His greedy hand rubbed against the shelf above her entrance, careful to not move so quickly that her skirts would not rub painfully over her delicate lips. Her hand spread over the ridges of his muscle, working his tunic up slowly as the mischievous hand often returned to his rear.  
  
Breaking from her lips and tongue, he wriggled out of his shirt, throwing it to the side. Lips moved to the crook of her neck, while his hand fought through her skirts. Finding her wet sex unimpeded by any garment, she looked away bashfully- if possible his breeches tightened further, "Maker's Breath."  
  
The pad of his thumb traced around her clit, coaxing the first mewl from her lips. The rest of his fingers teased at her entrance, nothing more but the tip of those maddening fingers went inside her. So she resorted to payback, awkwardly fumbling at his breeches for what felt like minutes — loosing much of her practice in the years spent apart. Finally, she caught his velvety member, drawing her fingers up the length to draw out his groan.   
  
Cullen's mouth moved to her collar, leaving behind gentle red welts. HIs tongue explored where her throat and clavicles met, stubble scrapping down her chest to rest in the space between her breasts. Taking in her scent, before pushing a breast out of her bodice. The second one followed shortly after, a quick swirl around each nipple was enough. He was impatient to have her naked.  
  
The freehand helped the other slide the dress over her head, discarding it in the same pile as his shirt. Guinevere's thumb pushed against the hem of his breeches, helping him rid himself of his clothing and boots. For a long moment, her mouth fell agape, tracing the lines of his sharp figure. The lines harder and more stretched than she remembered, while her Commander was never burly his muscles stretched across too thin skin. White scars brighter, the stubborn man proved to hardly eat without her encouragement.   
  
She pushed up to trace the line of the scar that trailed across his shoulder and across his pectoral muscles, the one she was responsible for. Again, he stopped her from uttering a word, removing her hand from the line and pushing it above her head. Lips pushed her back to the ground, and the fingers returned to her pearl before one bravely slipped in. Joined by another until her breath was caught in pleasure, her hips rocked against the thrusting of his fingers. Finding her hand freed as Cullen descended, pressing kissing against her skin. They turned reverent in the moments they crossed her swollen belly, backtracking to trace over the twin stretch marks that radiated from her hips.    
  
The corner of his dusky amber eyes turned up as his mouth replaced his fingers. Swirling around her clit, before lightly sucking on it, then his tongue wriggled between her entrance and back up again. Finding her fingers in the curls of his hair. Losing all passage of time as his mouth worked magic on her, but her orgasm did not come and always tettering out with a whimper before it could fire.   
  
"Cullen, please come inside me," her words fumbled, feeling the blush compete with the shade of her hair.  
  
"Whatever M'Lady wants," his thick voice echoed inside her.   
  
He drew her up, gently placing her on top of him. Guiding her hips over his own, grip held tight as she slid down his member. Guiding, but not forcing her as she worked for her balance. His eyes closed as Guinevere finally found her balance, undulating with more speed. Holding her hips tighter as she rose from her bent position, eyes opening to watching her changing expression as their thrusts synced. Cullen knew he wouldn't last long.  
  
He spilled into her minutes later, again returning her warm body to the blanket as they recovered. His hand played in her hair, drawing himself flush against her side.  
  
"Mrs. Rutherford," Cullen murmured, delighting in the color of her turquoise eyes opening to rest on him.  
  
"Husband?" the mage croaked.  
  
"Have I told you, you look lovely today?"  
  
Guinevere's eyebrows creased with tempered annoyance.  
  
He chuckled against her shoulder, "I wish I knew enough of poetry to quote something that would fit your beauty. Nothing comes to mind, but the thought that your freckles remind me of the night sky."  
  
Guinevere surrendered a low chuckle, "you should work on that. But what brings this up?"  
  
"Well, if you had ever remained still long enough I would have less awkwardly complimented you now," Cullen breathed against her prickled skin, "but this is my preferred type of post-coital conversation."  
  
"You choose now to be a shit?"  
  
"I do mean it, but I gather your sass has no end- no equally romantic words sparred for me," Cullen teased dryly, hanging an arm across her body.  
  
"I hadn't lectured you for not eating properly," she pressed her lips against his stubble, "previous to the last few weeks."  
  
"I will treasure those words forever."  
  
—   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —  
  
Cullen and Guinevere walked back lazily, still blissfully held in each other's company. Recruit trotted before them, an ear tilted back in the case of trouble. Guinevere's head rested against Cullen's shoulder, holding to him as if he might slip away. Cullen didn't mind so much, a soft smile rested on his lips.   
  
The Mabari's hackles raised, as the couple almost missed the riders coming toward them.   
  
Guinevere coughed and shielded her face from the dust, while Cullen spun her behind him. His smile turned to a sharp grimace, watching the Lord with South Reach's crest on his saddlebags nudge his horse toward them, "what did you need, my lord."  
  
The mage peered out from behind him, "Arl Bryland?"  
  
"Guinevere, stay back," Cullen hissed, quietly.  
  
"If it isn't the plucky healer, knew you weren't what you seemed," the older man called from his horse, "and I assume you are the former Commander of the Inquisition? Cullen Rutherford wasn't it, Mia Brannon's famous little brother?"  
  
Cullen moved to keep his body in front of his wife, "I am."  
  
"And the woman with you is none other than the Inquisitor herself, though it is not her first trip to South Reach," he urged the horse closer, looking over Cullen's shoulder. He knew Guinevere starred back at the man.  
  
"You are correct."  
  
"I don't know if I should bow, or run you out of my Arling," his expression turned serious, "but I fear what the Queen Regent would do if I dared. As Lady Trevelyan-"  
  
"Rutherford."  
  
"Lady Rutherford knows, it's not often anyone gets the best of me so easily. I suppose being half Orlesian yourself, it makes us even," the man took back his jovial tone.  
  
"It's because the other half isn't dog lord," Guinevere returned, braving out of his shadow, earning the Arl's full scrutiny.  
  
"Careful, you insult your new family and perhaps country," Bryland returned to half seriousness, "I only came to see if the rumors were true. I fear it will not be long until my daughter demands I invite you over for dinner. Do try not to bring too much attention to my quiet Arling."  
  
"No promises," Guinevere muttered as the man left. 


	4. Stumbling Into Trouble

The newest Rutherford tenderly ran her fingers over the surface of yet another official looking letter. The glimpse he caught of the wax seal marked the sender, two dogs over a shield divided into four sections. She did not set this one aside adding it to the growing pile of letters she promised to read eventually, it remained in her hands, her gaze shot to Cullen who was busy losing to Ethan at the small chess set. Sheepishly, that letter was set before her as another bird arrived at the table Guinevere's attention taken from the vital message with the arrival of another. At least the sender of this message was greeted with a wide grin.  
  
"You must have received a thousand letters in the last two days alone!" Mia griped.  
  
The constant inflow of correspondence had caused some upheaval in the small house.   
  
"I believe a hundred and nine is the exact number," Guinevere's eyes moved to the basket piled with letters, and small parcels, "I'm sorry."  
  
Mia waved her off, scuttling back to the corner of the living room that held the stove checking on the bird that roasted within the cast iron belly.   
  
"Cullen, Josie writes that Rylen has been most helpful, and that three-fourths of the soldiers are already on their way home," the red-head fought to keep her smile, "within the next fortnight the last of the Inquisition forces should be on their way. Skyhold is already empty."  
  
Cullen turned from his game, concern etched on his face. He wouldn't show it to his wife, "I'm pleased they work quickly."  
  
"The Commander would have it finished already," her teasing couldn't hide the aftertaste of bitterness. Cullen's answering grunt held the same taste.   
  
Ethan interrupted the banter, "Uncle, it is your turn."  
  
Guinevere returned to her letters, sticking the sealed letter to her right. Diving studiously into the piled notes, working as quickly as she could to clear the papers before dinner was ready. Claiming the entire table with blank parchment, quills, ink, and a few stray apples for moral support. Answering a few messages with an elegant script, and what he supposed were well wishes and thanks she discarded to the side. The small gifts sorted and noted on a separate list. A pile of coin grew on the table.    
  
"To think I've seen the Herald in nothing but a slip and covered in blood, I wonder if they would still send you a tithe," Mia mused, nosily looking over the letters her eye caught on the one with the Theirin crest, "That's the Theirin Crest! In person! Why haven't you opened it?"  
  
"I wished they wouldn't," the mage murmured.  
  
Cullen moved from the chest set, gripping the back of his wife's chair glancing over her work, "Alistair is no one to be impressed over, Sister."  
  
Guinevere chuckled, "I'm sure it's Amelia."  
  
"You've met the King and Queen?"  
  
"The Inquisitor was known for hobnobbing with several heads of state."  
  
"Not all of us can be taciturn and unsociable, dearest," the mage teased, "but yes, I particularly enjoyed their company. She's probably cross I haven't met Duncan yet."  
  
"Well, read it, crazy woman!"  
  
Guinevere made a show of slowly opening the letter, keeping straight eye contact with Mia throughout. Dipping out of the challenge as she read over the letter, Cullen read it over her shoulder a frown creasing his brow.  
  
"I think we should go, see if Denerim could be a fit for us," she looked up at her husband, a gentle smile pulling over her face.  
  
"I thought we were done with courts," he gruffed.  
  
Guinevere shook her head, "it's just a social visit. Nothing dangerous."  
  
"Denerim isn't far," Mia interjected.  
  
Jon knew the strain having two extra people in the already bursting house had on Mia. Both of them would never make them leave, but the sudden influx of traffic from South Reach alone had them reeling. Bran had to be watched around Guinevere, his personal mission, along with each of her journeys outside of the house becoming riskier. Already she wasn't allowed out without some sort of escort.  The mage chaffed, and Mia worried.  
  
"If it means that much to you," Cullen didn't sound happy over the specific circumstance, but he too seemed pleased for the excuse to get away.  
  
—   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —  
  
Less than a week later, Cullen and Guinevere stood in the receiving chambers of the Royal Palace. Cullen stood stiffly, only releasing his tight muscles to toy at the edges of his gloves, and to assure for the fourth time that his sleeves were tucked into the gloves properly. She looked over him with a smile, glad for her revenge of being talked into visiting the birthplace of Andraste. Petty as it was to enjoy watching him squirm as she had at the site of such religious significance.   
  
"Cullen, don't worry. You look handsome as ever," she attempted to soothe his nerves, "besides, it's not an Orlesian event."  
  
"I don't understand how you feel comfortable around nobles," Cullen half-snapped.  
  
"Well, they seemed overjoyed to let in Recruit, that a plus," Guinevere rested her head against his back, "what happened to not being impressed by Alistair? I've heard about his knickers."  
  
His hands finally unclenched, looking over his shoulder, "funny. But last I recall they watched our very public separation, that wasn't a great first impression."  
  
"I doubt they remember."  
  
Guinevere's head did not leave his back as the door opened, feeling as if he protected her steeling his nerves as the Royals came through the door. The woman guiding an unsteady child as he waddled into the room, an old Mabari trotted through immediately setting his attention on the other hound in the room.  The two sniffed each other in quicker circles.  
  
"Guinevere!" The blonde woman greeted with a squeal, sweeping up her child to give the other woman a one-armed hug. The warden's grey eyes glared at him from over the Herald's shoulder. She had not forgotten.  
  
"Amelia," she greeted in kind, pulling away to get a better look at the child she held, "this must be Duncan?"  
  
Strawberry blonde hair wisped over grey eyes, a bit of something yellow smeared over his cheek. His chubby cheeks ruddy curiously cooing at the woman who stared at him. Guinevere gulped, reddening at the attention the kid showed her. Amelia tipped the child in her direction, and Guinevere accepted the toddler after verbal confirmation. Duncan's fists winded into her crimson hair if the mage felt pain her awestruck face did not show it.   
  
"Cullen, he's adorable," Guinevere scrunched her face, "I can't wait for our own."  
  
Cullen dared to get closer, placing a hand on her shoulder. Catching the attention of the child.  
  
"Wait, you didn't tell me you were expecting!"  
  
"Oh, Amelia," Guinevere cooed, "I've been so busy. I forgot!"  
  
"I hope you didn't take the Exalted Council personally, I didn't- we didn't-"  
  
Alistair interrupted, "Lady Trev- Rutherford and I had an understanding. With the entire drama-fest that was the Viscount's party, we squeezed in some time to devise the end of the Inquisition."  
  
"It would be too strange just to end the Inquisition, I needed opposition to push it along," the mage spoke in baby talk but failing to draw the complete attention of Duncan, "Josie and Leli would have never let me go."  
  
"Should I be worried that my husband is consorting with another woman?" Amelia quipped, winking at the King.  
  
"Only if I keep getting ignored," Alistair pouted, "and just forget the part where I managed to make a wise decision almost by myself."  
  
Cullen snorted, taken back by the casual manner the three carried between them. Alistair offered a smile, but Amelia's attention was moved to the Mabari that danced around each other. Recruited moved faster than the elder dog, but he played respectfully. The adolescent pup was showing an extraordinary amount of restraint. Duncan leaned over Guinevere's shoulder, reaching out to touch his face. Without warning, the kid was in his arms, the child's hand placed on his nose.  
  
Cullen knew this game, gently pinching the babe's nose and pulling away with his thumb between his fore and middle finger, "got your nose." He spoke timidly, feeling suddenly awkward.  
  
Duncan giggled, attempting to do the same thing to Cullen. The man lost some of his pride, acting aghast until both of them had returned their stolen noses.   
  
The other three continued idle chatter while Cullen played with the child. A few minutes later, they were called for dinner. With Duncan still in his arms, they proceeded to the dining hall. He deposited the kid into the specially designed chair, before taking his seat beside Guinevere.  
  
The mage waited for the first course to be served, a bowl of simple tomato soup with vegetables, "I see you trust your kitchens again, my Lord."  
  
The King rolled his eyes, "thank you for reminding me." He did little more than peck at the rest of his soup. But as the meal of lamb was set before him, his hunger returned.   
  
"Leonas didn't seem pleased with you being in South Reach," Amelia spoke between mouthfuls.  
  
Guinevere laughed, watching Cullen barely manage to show interest in his plate, "I think he will give me little trouble. He recognized me from my stint in his arling, but I'm not sure if I will stay there. Cullen's family has been patient, but there is not much room."  
  
"Another baby won't help, how far along are you?"  
  
"Four months."  
  
"You still have time, I hear Denerim has a few empty estates," Amelia avoided another eye-roll from Alistair, "and we could always use another advisor. We've been out of the Game for far too long."  
  
Cullen and Guinevere both stiffened, she spoke for them, "I appreciate the offer, mentioning estates, I actually have a place in Kirkwall as well. Apparently, I'm a Comtesse there, with a fancy key to the harbor."  
  
"Imagine the chaos if you used it," Alistair said with awe.  
  
"It would give Varric something to laugh about- after the merchants stopped bothering him."  
  
Cullen shot Guinevere a questioning look, clearly not hearing this before now. She shot him a mouthed sorry, running her hand over his thigh with a gentle clench. She hadn't considered for a moment settling in Kirkwall, hence her silence about the subject. She hardly thought about it, forgetting about the title and estate. But she should write Varric, and urge him to convert the house into something useful.   
  
The conversation between the King and Mage devolved into ridiculous circumstances involving the key to the Kirkwall harbor. Amelia pipped in with a little laughing and commentary on the side. The Templar was silent, eating the little he did between his thoughts on matters outside the dining hall.   
  
"So, Alistair-" Guinevere smirked, "I have heard certain rumors."  
  
"Yes?" he replied, curious.  
  
"About you, and knickers. Specifically in a circle."  
  
The King blanched, and Cullen snapped to attention looking to his wife harshly.  
  
"What did you tell them!" he demanded of Cullen, turning a dark red.   
  
"Uh, my le- Ali-" he sputtered.  
  
Guinevere stepped in, "did you really salute everyone and walk away?"   
  
Amelia leaned into her husband, "Ali-bear, I haven't heard this one."  
  
"Nobody was supposed to- that was-" Alistair huffed, "who did you tell?"  
  
"I hadn't-"  
  
The mage spoke for him again, "Josephine, and Varric for the figures you would know. If it makes you feel better, Cullen ended up taking a walk of shame that night."  
  
"Guinevere!" echoed Alistair and Cullen, both men red.  
  
She cackled, holding her stomach as she laughed.  
  
"Now I need to hear this one," Amelia mused.


	5. A Chase and Solemn Promises

Guinevere circled the tree for the thousandth time, stopping as she had once again to play with her nails. Was this her place? They had discussed this very issue, and he did not seem interested in that life any longer. Even adamant about giving time to their family, but her nature was simply too difficult to ignore.   
  
How angry would he be with her?  
  
The time out of Mia's house had given her time to think clearly, without the constant racket and stress of the rambunctious family.  Cullen was lighter near his family, already in the week and a half away from them, his usual frown returned. He wasn't grumpy,  per se, but the old edge to his nature returned. He retreated into his shell, ate less, and his playful side subdued. Guinevere had tried to convince herself that it was because he felt unsafe in Denerim, and worried for her. But it continued within the walls of the Palace.   
  
She couldn't make the Templar leave home again.  
  
With more time spent relaxing, the former Commander fused. Constantly vigilant about the state of their room, finding himself adjusting the slightest mess. Even once snipping at Guinevere for setting a paper in the wrong spot, he apologized profusely for it immediately, but she watched him fight the urge to correct her. Shopping for baby related items that day had failed, his mood soured for the rest of his waking hours. Cullen needed something to keep his hands and mind busy; there was only so much she could handle of his complete attention even if it left her sated.  
  
"Guinevere?" Alistair called, the old Mabari at his side.  
  
"Your Majesty," Guinevere curtsied, forgetting herself.  
  
"Not you too," he murmured, "what are we being especially serious about now?"  
  
"Sorry," she scratched at her chest, "you will tell me if this is entirely out of line, but I was hoping we could be granted land. Or at least the ability to buy said land."  
  
"I'm sure the Arl, or Bann of said land could-"  
  
He was interrupted, "I ask, because of what the land would be used for, and where this parcel is. We wish to use it for a Templar clinic, to help those willing recover from lyrium addiction."  
  
Alistair's amusement turned to curiosity, "seems strange you are asking when.." He let her finish.  
  
"It isn't for me, Maker's Breath. Cullen can't negotiate for his life, and he'd sternly lecture me if he knew what I was up to."  
  
He pat her back, "I know that stern lecture. The ilk of nightmares. Let me summon my Queen, probably Ser Grumpy One.... and someone that knows my country's laws."  
  
The three were fetched in short order, Cullen ran the last steps to her side, "what is this about?"  
  
The King's demeanor darkened, "your wife is driving a hard bargain."  
  
Guinevere did not meet his gaze, amusing herself with something on the ground. Amelia watched the show with growing entertainment.   
  
"I could demand that she remain in Denerim, as she now resides in my nation. I could order her to serve as an ambassador to my courts," the King drew on starkly.  
  
"Technically no, your liege," the scribe corrected, "but you could exile her."  
  
"Or order him to serve at my courts!" Alistair bellowed.  
  
Guinevere's cheeks puffed out.  
  
"I-" Cullen began to question, flustered, "what is happening?"  
  
"Well, I'm not entirely aware of the details myself," The King dropped his frown, "I just wanted to see everyone get riled up. So where is this land?"  
  
"Near South Reach, I believe it is called Respite's Gully."  
  
"Guinevere, I don't see why this is a matter to bring up to the King," Cullen urged, bowing his head to the man.  
  
"It is when the former Inquisitor and Commander of the Inquisition could form another standing army on Fereldan land," Alistair half teased.  
  
"Technically, it was on the border," Guinevere countered, and the scribe shrugged in partial agreeance.   
  
"Guinevere?" Cullen questioned again.  
  
"I believe he has the details worked out," or so the mage assumed, "Cullen is the one to hash out over details, and the name the land would be purchased under. A Fereldan native would cause less upheaval."  
  
"Bryland will still have a fit," Amelia chuckled.  
  
Guinevere nodded, "also a matter I hoped you would help with."  
  
"You can't be.... you are," the former Commander sighed, "it would easily be under a hundred men. I would run drills, but only as an outlet to diffuse tension. I know those seeking aid would all be trained men, I intend to help them overcome lyrium addiction. The Chantry has done little to aid those who would leave the order. As a former Templar that left the order, and no longer takes lyrium, I could help others recover safely."  
  
His voice shook, his gaze dropped to the ground, intensely uncomfortable with sharing such a private part of his life. Cullen avoided looking in Guinevere's direction, bewildered and somewhat betrayed in the same round. She had overstepped, pushing his goal into the open and him in out into the spotlight with it. But if she had not made a public scene, the stubborn man would have never allowed her to bargain for his dream — one that did not mesh with his responsibility to his incoming child, and new bride.  
  
"I believe this is a noble purpose," Alistair nodded solemnly, "and the Chantry will be glad I so charitably donated the lands for the recovery of her Templars."  
  
The scribe let out a defeated sigh, knowing his objection was pointless.   
  
"Alistair, I have the coin to-"  
  
He waved away her concerns, "I remember that your Inquisition helped me, and perhaps you being a dear friend has something to do with it. I may call in a few favors here and there, mostly so Amelia can stop bothering me to summon you to my court."  
  
 "I don't have to have you threaten my friends for me!" Amelia scolded, "but it does give us the excuse to 'inspect' their operations, to assure they are not amassing an army. Once Duncan is old enough to travel."  
  
"Supposing the director agrees," the King chuckled in the direction of the stunned Cullen.   
  
"This is-," his throat caught, requiring him to clear it, "the offer is too kind. Could I request a private audience with my dearest wife?"  
  
"And thus, newly wedded bliss ends," the ginger-haired man sassed, "Guinevere, there are plenty of comfortable dog houses within the keep. I suggest the green one, might even be some leftover cheese if the dog hasn't got to it all."  
  
"I suspect, we will see you both at dinner," Amelia said with a shake of her head. Urging her husband to walk away with her.  
  
The two were left alone in the garden courtyard, and Guinevere retreated a few steps, "don't be mad."  
  
Cullen pulled in a steadying breath, amber eyes molten, "what were you thinking?"  
  
"About making you happy, mostly."  
  
"And putting me on the spot was the way to do it?" Cullen advanced, the mage matching his stride forward with two backward steps.  
  
"You're stubborn, and you would have told me no if we talked about it!"  
  
"What if I don't want it?"  
  
"I never chose to be the Herald or Inquisitor."  
  
"Is this revenge?" Cullen launched around the willow tree Guinevere darted behind, sending her scuttling through the arches of the small gazebo, "that was hardly my sole doing!"  
  
"Don't pretend you hadn't considered this path, Cullen."  
  
"You're making me consider regretting the path I did take!" He stopped within the circular structure, golden eyes following her clockwise trace around the arches. Calculating the distance, she considered safe from his reach and how to overcome it.   
  
"You'd grow bored."  
  
The man snorted "or learn the way of peace."  
  
"I doubt you have that within you."  
  
"Not with the company I keep," Cullen dashed for her, expertly clearing the decorative wall of the gazebo. Guinevere scrambled through the curtain of leaves and flexible branches, weaving through the tendrils rather than clearing the tree. It worked to slow them both, her barely contained laughter egging him on.  
  
"Then be rid of me! You'd get your wish either way!"  
  
"If it were that easy!"  
  
A flurry of crimson hair streaked diagonally across the massive underbelly of the tree; her mistake realized as her single arm reached out to stop her stumbling over a misjudged and gnarled branch. Cullen caught her waist, spinning the woman back first into the trunk. The length of his forearm rest above her head, as the turquoise eyes looked to him with trepidation. The laughter that came so fluidly moments earlier held in her throat.  
  
"Cullen," he allowed her hand to guide his hand to her belly.  
  
The slightest movement tickled his palm.  
  
"You impossible, irritating, stubborn, foolish, frustrating, woman," each adjective punctuated with a kiss that worked from her hair to the tip of her freckled nose, "I cannot put you in danger, allow me this... I couldn't bear losing either of you."  
  
His eyes closed as his forehead buried into her shoulder, easing himself with her familiar smell. Winding his arms gently around her waist, careful not to press into the swollen belly.   
  
"We could wait until the child is born, the building would take some time," still she fought for him, "we could start with people you trust. Or a few vetted persons."  
  
"Do you know how dangerous coming off of lyrium can be? They could turn violent, some turn to crime," he retreated to look her squarely in the eyes, "what if they went after our child?"  
  
"I wouldn't let them, you know I can handle myself," Guinevere mirrored with her own staunch stare, "I'm not entirely foolish. I know what this entails, what it could mean."  
  
"You've seen the worst in Templars, I fear what exposing you to them without end would do," Cullen looked away from her, moving to grip her arms tightly, "you're free. Yes, stuck with an old and grumpy Templar- I pray you know you have nothing to fear from me- but, to surround you once again. Wouldn't you feel like you were back in the Circle?"  
  
"As long as you don't build a tower."  
  
"This is not the time to joke," Cullen chaffed.  
  
"Cullen, you've- are enduring something few have managed. I know the effort you had placed into the clinic, I don't want that to change just because I got in the way," she would touch his face if her arm were not trapped, "I can guess how difficult it was to bring it up to Josephine. I know how private you are. If you let me help, I can get you what you desire."  
  
"I desire you, this," his hand spread wide over her belly, warm breath brushing her face as his forehead rested against her's, "I swear unto you, I would be happy without anything else."  
  
"We can have our cookies, and eat those too."  
  
"Guinevere," he warned, "I will have places, times- circumstances that you must obey my orders. If, Andraste preserve me, you vow to listen and comply without complaint at my word. This may be a possibility."  
  
"I swear it," she placed her fist to her heart.  
  
"Is there anything you desire, Mrs. Rutherford?" his timber softened, pressing his lips against her brow.  
  
"An orchard, and perhaps a third of the time given to the child allotted to me," she smirked, "you'll have your work cut out for you, thank the Maker."  
  
"I can try, you make a hard bargain," he chuckled against her brow, "I tire of apples."  
  
"Who said I would share?"  
  
"Let us hope our child craves something sensible, like treats. Or I will be forced into planting two orchards."  
  
"Good thing the Inquisitor squirreled away her money."  
  
Cullen sighed wearily, "I had hoped you secured funding. I have my own, but nothing in comparison to- what if this fails? We could lose everything."  
  
"Then it does, I'd live just as happily next to you in a shed as I would a mansion," she offered him a brave grin, "we also have friends that could aid us. Kirkwall if we really needed somewhere."  
  
Cullen took her tightly into his grip, forgoing his earlier caution and holding her entire being against him. Guinevere might have imagined his trembling but decided on leaving it without comment.   
  
"Thank you," he whispered, "I thought I loved you before, now- Maker's breath."

Cullen thought of nothing better to do than kiss his impossible, irritating, stubborn, foolish, and frustrating wife.


End file.
